“I don’t care about Erica. Matthew is the only family I have left!”
“I assure you the police have been looking for him. If and when they find him, we’ll notify you, but until then this is what must happen. You will be placed in a group home, you will attend school and start living your life. You can’t simply press pause on your life until he’s found. Look, this isn’t an ideal situation. I think it’s time you accept that Matthew might not want to be found. Even if he is found, no judge would give custody to a barely legal sibling who is wanted for questioning over a murder case and the shooting of two innocent people.”
“It wasn’t his fault!” I know that’s a lie. I know that whatever Matty was mixed up in brought those guys to our front door, but I know in my heart and soul he would never have intentionally put me in harm’s way. I can’t imagine the guilt he must be feeling over what happened that night.
I have no intention of sitting at some group home when I could be out looking for my brother, but I won't get the freedom unless I play along. I nod. “Okay.” After packing my meager belongings in a lovely trash bag provided by my case worker, I say goodbye to one prison in exchange for another.
The group home is exactly as I thought it would be; a cold, dark, brick building where hopes and dreams go to die. I now live with a collection of broken, angry kids all intent on acting like prison inmates. Which is easy to do considering the ten-foot fence surrounding the property. This isn’t a place where children go to be healed; this is a prison training center. Grooming us to find our place in the underbelly of the unknown and unwanted. I need to get out of here as soon as possible before I too slip through the cracks. Matty was right all along, he knew this was where I would end up if they found us.
I’m granted phone privileges after a week of good behavior.
I can barely still my shaking hand as I frantically dial Noah’s phone number, and with each ring my heartbeat races. Please pick up, please pick up.
“Who is this,” a woman’s clipped voice demands, and my heart stops dead.
“May I speak with Noah, please?” I ask, politely.
“I repeat, who is this?” the cold voice demands once more.
“Uh, my name is Alexa, I’m a friend of Noah’s.”
Her gasp is audible through the line. “This is all your fault! He'll never speak to you again as long as there is life in my body. He hates you. It’s your fault Elise’s dead! It should have been you, you piece of trash. Don’t ever call here again or I’ll call the police!” She hangs up.
I stand there for a few moments in shock. He hates me, he thinks it’s my fault. I collapse on the floor, still clutching the phone. He won’t even speak to me. Of course he won’t talk to me, I killed his sister. I ruined his family’s life, and the life of their grandchild.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, dissolving into a pool of tears. Eventually I’m escorted back to my room, where I curl into bed and wait for the world to end. Surely it can’t keep going on like this. I can’t keep breathing after everything has been ripped away from me. I let myself be stupid enough to believe life could be good. For a moment, I was deliriously happy, I gave love and was loved. It felt like a split second of time, like a dream. Only to wake up to this nightmare; not only has it all been taken away but it’s my own fault. I destroyed a family with my stupidity. Why didn’t I listen to Elise?
If only I could go back, stop myself from going. Stop everything from happening. The aching void in my heart begs the universe to please make it stop. This can’t be real. This can’t be happening. I rock myself in bed, willing time to rewind, willing Elise alive, willing Noah to love me again, willing Matty to find me and take me away from here.
I walk through the next week in a fog: I go to group therapy as required, I sit through classes as required, but I see and hear nothing. This is not where I am supposed to be.
I waited exactly one month before my first escape attempt. I had no plan, no idea of how I would do it. I saw an opening and took it blindly. The gate was open, not fifty feet from me. I figured, if I could make it out, I could find Matty, make Noah listen to me. Without thinking, I broke into a run, leaving that awful place in my dust. Closer and closer to freedom, I ran as fast as my legs would carry me. I didn’t even make it to the parking lot before they caught me. Flailing wildly, I was tackled to the ground and carried back inside, and then locked in my room, with the help of whatever sedative they stabbed into my arm.
“Son of a bitch.” I cursed the hands that held me. I vowed to get out of there and find my brother, nothing would stop me.
My second escape, I thought I had planned to perfection. I watched the gate, watched the guards. I snuck out quietly and unseen, or so I thought. I stole some cash from another kid in my room and booked out of there. They caught up to me at the bus station. Apparently, I’m not very original and that was always the first place they looked for runaways. I went back without a fight this time.
For my third attempt, I spent weeks googling maps and found out we were only about a thirty-minute drive away from where I lived with Matty. I just needed to make it to the road, then I could hitch a ride as far from here as I could get. No more buses, no more group home. I would find Matty myself.
I’m walking down the highway with my thumb out, begging for a ride when a car of college girls pick me up. They’re heading to a party and are happy to give me a ride home when I tell them my car broke down. As luck would have it, they drop me off right at my old apartment. I say my goodbyes and stand on the sidewalk, unable to stop staring at the spot on the pavement where I thought I was going to die, where I watched the life drain out of my best friend.
Thick tears fall down my cheeks as I stare at the stain in the cement. I sit there for I don’t know how long. People shuffle past me; no one cares that my world ended in this very spot. They tread over the stains of our blood like it’s nothing. “I’m sorry, Elise. I should have listened to you. Please forgive me.”
Eventually I pull myself away and tread up the stairs to our apartment, hoping by some miracle Matty will have left something, anything to tell me where I can find him.
Finding the door unlocked, I open it, hoping someone else hasn’t moved in in our absence. The apartment’s spotless, any trace of the violence that occurred has been washed away. Makes me wonder how many people rent apartments after murders, having no idea the horror that occurred in their new home. All the rooms have been emptied out. All hope is lost. I collapse on the couch and cry for the loss of my brother, feeling like there is nothing left anchoring me here.
“Alexa, you can’t be here,” Roxanne says from the doorway.
I start sobbing uncontrollably, I have nowhere left to run. “Where am I supposed to go?”
“You’ve got to stop chasing the past. Look forward, Alexa. You need to make a clean break. Your obsession with finding Matthew and loving this boy is ruining your progress and causing you to fall apart.”
“I can’t live without them. It hurts too much.”
“I know this is hard,” she says, wrapping her arm around me, “but you need to find a way to move on from this. I promise you, if I hear anything about your brother I’ll tell you.”
Chapter Eight
After being caught running away three times, I’m transferred to a foster home. We drive for hours. Obviously, they think if they take me far enough away I won’t try to escape. With each passing mile, the happy life I shared with my friends slips further away, and the hope of ever fi nding my brother disappears. I steady myself as we wind through the streets of a strange city and park in front of a small cottage. The house is decorated in suns, moons, and more windchimes than I’ve ever seen in my life. Like someone threw up an entire hippy commune all over the exterior of this poor little house. I look over at my case worker with wide eyes, questioning her choice. What fresh hell is this?
“You can’t be serious,” I say, pointing to the house.
"You only have one year until you age ou
t of the system, Alexa. Lana Raine is her name and she... she’s Erica’s sister.”
“My aunt?” I question, looking up at the house, trying to picture how this hippy fits in with Erica and her cruelty. “I didn’t know she had a sister.”
“It took some time finding her. But family is always preferable in these situations.”
“If she’s anything like Erica....”
“She’s not. She has another foster child she adopted a few years ago. She may seem a bit... eccentric, but she’s a good person, Alexa,” she assures me. I nod and look back up at the tacky house.
We walk up the cobblestone pathway to the porch. Every spare inch of the small space is decorated with pots of overflowing plants. Each pot is adorned with some mystical little creature: fairies and gnomes and little stones with sayings on them. It’s cluttered but somehow seems magical and endearing. Whoever this woman is, it’s obvious she is the polar-opposite of the cynical Erica Young.
A sign hangs over the door, Let your inner Goddess shine. I look back at my caseworker, pointing to the sign with wide eyes, shaking my head. She just smiles, shrugs, and rings the bell, not a doorbell but an actual bell attached to the wall beside the door. Who even does that?
Lana Raine appears in all her glory, like a vision in rainbow paisley. She looks like a bohemian princess, with her pale blonde, wavy hair hanging loose around her shoulders. She wears a colorful sundress flowing straight down to her ringed toes. She leads us into her cozy home and I follow them slowly, taking in the decor. I sit silently while they discuss my history and my recovery. I listen to my life spouted off like a stranger. I sound like a mess:
broken home, gunshot victim, runaway. How is this my life?
She’s Erica’s sister, and for all I know this could be a clever rouse—she could really be an ax murderer. I look around the room for any obvious signs of ax murder, and come up empty. Well, maybe she doesn’t have the profile of an ax murderer, but sacrificing me to her Goddess in exchange for eternal beauty could be in her agenda.
Roxanne stands to leave and my heart lurches; this is it, she’s leaving me here. She looks pointedly at me. “Be good, Alexa,” she says, before walking out, leaving me with Lana and her inner Goddess.
“Are you hungry, sweetie?” she asks. I shake my head. “Come on then, I’ll show you to your room. You probably need a moment alone to process all of this.” She stands and leads me up the stairs, stopping in front of a closed door. “This is my daughter Rebekah's room. She's your age and will be home for supper, so you can meet her then,” she says, moving on. “This is your room, Alexa. You and Rebekah will share an adjoining bathroom.” We walk into a very pretty room, and she points to a door on the far wall where I assume the bathroom lies. “I wanted to decorate but your file mentioned you were an artist type, so, I thought you'd like to put your own touches on the space. I've always loved this room, it has a great energy and light, don’t you think?” She looks around, smiling.
Having no idea how to respond, I reply simply. “Thank you.”
“Get settled, sweetheart.” She touches my shoulder and smiles. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.” Her hand brushes over my forearm, feeling the ridges of scars, and she looks down, a sad frown marring her peaceful face. She squeezes my hand gently, looking back to me with tears in her eyes. “The Goddess doesn’t want you to die, Alexa. Or you wouldn’t be here with me today. Even if you feel unworthy, it is an insult to her to throw your life away," she declares as she walks out, leaving me to let her words soak in.
The room does have great light, I'll give her that. With all the crazy bohemian clutter in the rest of the house, this room is plain by comparison. I unpack the handful of clothes I have into the dresser. I stare at its meager contents and fight the urge to cry. All my worldly possessions don't even fill one drawer. Nothing in that drawer is of any value, I’ve got nothing but my memories and the ink on my skin to remind me of my former life. I sit on the bed and run my finger over the butterflies adorning my arm. It's all I have left. It feels like a wisp of a dream in the horror that has been my life. Like it wasn't even real.
I curl up on the bed and cry over the loss of my best friend, her baby, and the love of a boy I’ll never forget. The bed dips behind me and I feel a hand on my shoulder.
“Oh, honey, I know the world is pushing you in the dirt right now, but life is beautiful, and everything will be okay.”
“My best friend and her unborn child are dead because of me, I've lost my brother, my best friends, and my first love in a matter of days. I’ve got nothing left. Life is not beautiful, life is pain.”
“You’ll see. Each day it will hurt a little less until one day you will be able to breathe without hurting.” She brushes my hair out of my face. “Dinner is ready, would you like to join us?” I shake my head.
“This is your one get-out-of-dinner-free card. I'll give you today to adjust but starting tomorrow, no more hiding, okay? Life is out there, not hiding in here wishing the world right again.” She states all this kindly. I nod.
“Thank you, Lana.”
“Get some rest, love. The weight of the world will feel a little lighter tomorrow.” Then she leaves me alone for the rest of the night.
Morning comes, and I follow the sounds of voices into the kitchen.
Lana is sitting at the table, adorned in a yellow sundress with purple daisies all over it, her hair hanging over her shoulder in a long braid. She smiles at me over her mug. “Good morning, Lexi. Did you sleep well?”
I nod then glance at the stove where a girl who must be her daughter is cooking bacon and eggs. It smells divine. She looks up at me, giving me a bright smile, waving at me with a spatula.
“Morning.” She’s stunning, long blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail, tall thin body with legs for days. Usually, girls like her put me on edge, but she has a kind smile. She’s dressed in a pair of ragged jean shorts with a T-shirt that says ‘I wish I was full of tacos instead of emotions’. This makes me stifle a laugh.
“Do you like bacon, Lexi? Course you do, everyone loves bacon. Well, everyone except Lana,” she jokes, rolling her eyes. I can’t help but smile at her silliness.
“I don't eat loveable creatures, Rebekah,” Lana replies, shaking her head.
“Pigs aren’t that loveable, they’re actually kind of mean. And really, it’s their own fault. Maybe they shouldn't be so delicious if they didn’t want to be eaten.” She’s laughing as she makes up two plates and slides one in front of me. My stomach rumbles. I don't remember the last meal I ate. I devour the plate, mumbling a quick, “Thank you.”
Lana puts her bowl in the dishwasher, before gathering her things off the counter. “Well, I'm off to work, what do you girls plan on doing today?”
“Last two weeks before school starts? I'm going to lie on the beach and do a whole lotta nothing!” Rebekah says with a smile. “Wanna come?”
“The beach?” I ask, excited. “Are we near the beach?”
She looks at me like I'm crazy. “Um, yeah... like a fiveminute walk, that way,” she says, pointing over my shoulder. “So, you in?”
I smile and nod excitedly. “I've only been once before. It was the best day of my life,” I say wistfully, remembering that perfect day.
“Awesome, grab a suit and we’ll have a lazy beach day.” “I don't have a swimsuit, I don't have anything.”
“Oh, shit, sorry, I guess you need some clothes and stuff.
We can swing by the store and grab whatever you need, right, Lana? Easy fix.”
“Of course, your case worker mentioned the rest of your things wouldn’t be mailed out for a week,” Lana adds. My things?
“I don't have any things, I thought everything was destroyed.” Maybe I left something behind at the group home.
“I don't know, sweetie. She just said a box of your things will arrive next week some time. Okay, my lovelies, have a fun day. Make good choices, wear sunblock, and drink lots of water.” She kiss
es us both on the cheek and glides out of the room in a wave of bright colors and flowing material.
The bohemian queen.
“Where does she work, Rebekah?” I wonder aloud.
“She owns a hippy, new-age bookshop down by the beach and please, for the love of God, don't call me Rebekah, only Lana does that. It's Bex,” she says, holding out her hand. I shake it.
“How long have you been with Lana?”
“She legally adopted me when I was twelve, and she was my foster parent from when I was eight. She’s wonderful, and I love her to bits, but she isn't my real mom.” She thinks about this for a minute, then shakes her head.
I help clean up after breakfast.
“Ready to go then?”
We head to a surf shop around the corner that has hundreds of bathing suits. I never had any money for clothes back home, so the options in front of me are making me a little cross-eyed. Bex is not so shy. I think she might be the least shy person I've ever met. She picks out three suits for me, a couple pairs of shorts and flip flops, and pushes me into a dressing room. Once I confirm it all fits, she snatches it all out of my hands and pays the girl behind the till as they make small talk about the weather. She’s such a cool chick. She’s happy and friendly to everyone she meets. I like her.
“That should last you until Lana takes us school shopping,” she says as we walk back to the house to change and drop off the extra clothes.
“She won't be mad that you’re spending all this money on me? I don't know how long I’ll be around for.” This seems to shock her, as she stops dead.
“Lana isn't just some jerk foster parent, she takes this shit seriously. You aren't going anywhere, this is your home now for as long as you want it. Look, I know she seems flakey, but she’s a wonderful person with a kind heart. You could do a lot worse than Lana. A lot worse,” she states seriously, like she knows from experience.
Exposure Page 8
